The Lighthouse
by Starrika
Summary: Discontinued. An attempted rewrite to comply with Deathly Hallows is slated to happen at some point in the future.
1. A Beacon of Hope

It had taken two years for Harry to find out that he had inherited a house from Sirius, and two more years to find the time and nerve to go to it. Located between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade, and securely under Anti-Apparition wards, the house was a place Harry was reluctant to visit.  
  
Since finishing Hogwarts, he was faced with the situation of finding a place to live, and the house left to him was perfectly suitable... close to Dumbledore, with old spells for magical protection. It had been left to Sirius by an uncle, and it was incredibly tempting, since he had been living out of a suitcase for the past two years.  
  
Nevertheless, it had taken days to get up the nerve to check it out. Even though he wouldn't admit it, he had a fear of portraits badgering him with questions, screaming insults, or even worse, mentioning Sirius. He wasn't sure he could face what lay behind those walls, or how many times he would be reminded of his godfather. The feelings of guilt and anger had subsided over time. He had lost the desperation to see Sirius again.  
  
In fact, Harry was trying his hardest to never think of him, or the lost chances to find out about his parents. It was a blessing that Mrs. Weasley was efficient. By the time he saw Grimmauld Place again, there was no resemblance in its bright, cheery walls to the house that held all the memories of Sirius. And now he was faced with a situation that could easily be one he'd been trying to avoid all along. Harry sighed at the irony and made a move to the front door, keys in hand. He'd spent enough time staring at the front door, lost in thoughts.  
  
The house was a large, yellow Victorian, with gabled roofs and a turret winding up one side, all of which was decorated with white woodwork, making it look like a gingerbread house. It seemed almost to sprawl everywhere at once. There were blue shutters on the windows and green trim around the doors that made Harry think of the quirkiness of the Burrow. The green front door had a starburst glass inlay in the center that was oddly hypnotic, despite being clouded with dust. Putting the key to the lock, Harry glanced about the porch, checking to make sure that he was really alone. Shaking his head, he recognized his paranoia and leaned into the key, hearing the grinding sound of the lock opening.  
  
Harry stepped into the dark foyer with relief. Everything was silent. He moved further into the entryway, and the glass lamps lining the hall lit up. Shutting the door behind himself absently, he looked up to see a charmed ceiling mimicking the bright sunrise outside. The hall was just as cheery as the outside of the house, with light orange walls, and pictures of fruit hanging everywhere in a slapdash manner. It was almost a relief to face the front entryway and step inside; there were no talking portraits here.  
  
Venturing further, he discovered a library, dining room, and kitchen before stumbling across the master bedroom on the first floor. At this point, Harry gaped in awe. The room was a pale green, with massive, dark green furniture. Light, airy scarves twined about the poster bed and at the huge windows, giving the room a lifelike quality. The bed was topped with a glossy coverlet swirled with light green and blue, and when Harry flopped onto it, he looked up to another charmed ceiling.  
  
As Harry walked into the bathroom, he kept his eye on the ceiling, and was pleased to find that it continued into that room as well. After that, he actually looked at the bathroom and gaped; it put the prefect's bathroom to shame! He had always known that Sirius' family had money, but he had never pictured anything like this. At the thought of Sirius, he sobered again, but continued his exploration of the house with growing excitement.  
  
On the second floor, he found a nursery, a sitting room, two bathrooms, and a host of bedrooms, all decorated in different mixes of calming colors. He'd begun to notice the effect the house had upon him; every time he had started to stress about something, it seemed to release a calming air. He gave a slight grin as he realized that the house was probably doused in some version of a cheering charm. It was indeed starting to grow on him.  
  
Climbing up the second set of stairs, Harry found that the third floor had a large playroom with a few toys scattered on the floor, and a large amount of boxes stacked against the wall. There was another bathroom, and a few more bedrooms, and the tiny, narrow stairs to the attic. At this point, Harry had become a bit suspicious about the lack of portraits in the house. With the exception of the fruit, he hadn't seen much of anything on the walls, not even a talking mirror, which was decidedly odd for a wizarding house. He stopped short when he reached the attic, knowing that someone, probably Dumbledore, had removed the portraits from the walls. They were stacked upon each other up here, sheets covering them, scattered among bits of old furniture and trunks. Harry turned to leave, glad someone had remembered his trepidation, and resolved to face the paintings later--much later if they were anything like the portrait of Sirius' mother. He started to grin at that point. Merlin help him if the painting screamed bloody murder, he'd end up slashing it before knowing who it was.  
  
With a chuckle, Harry finished looking through the house and made his way back to Hogwarts, where he'd left his belongings before coming over to explore. Thinking of his small trunk, Harry was relieved that the house still retained its furnishing — he didn't have anything to his name other than the trunk, some schoolbooks, Hedwig's cage, and a broomstick. Enlisting the help of Hagrid, Harry carried his belongings back to the house and watched his back, wishing he wasn't talking so loudly. He immediately felt guilty for thinking bad of Hagrid, but couldn't help his paranoia. Harry wished they were taking the tunnel from Hogwarts to the house, but understood the need for secrecy; however, the situation left him anything but comfortable.  
  
As they approached, Hagrid broke into a grin over Harry's trunk. "Would you look at that," he beamed. "It's a bloomin' mansion, Harry! Yer a lucky chap, this bein' so big an' close to Dumbledore an' all."  
  
Harry smiled back, pleased at Hagrid's reaction. "I do like it. I didn't think I would, but it's very nice. Absolutely way too big, but it's the nicest thing I've ever owned."  
  
Hagrid gave him a heavy swat to the back which Harry supposed was a pat. Taking his trunk and setting it in a corner, Harry drew a deep breath. It was instantly relaxing. "Well, what's 'er name?" Hagrid questioned, stooping below the ceiling.  
  
"Name?"  
  
"All wizards' houses have names, Harry. Like the Burrow, or . . . well, you know what I mean," Hagrid explained.  
  
Harry wrinkled his brow in thought for a moment, and gazed around at the pictures of fruit blindly. When his eyes landed on the glass inlay on the door, he crunched his eyebrows even further together. "How about . . . the Lighthouse? Does that sound good?"  
  
Hagrid gave a large smile. "The house sure is bright, an' it does make sense." He paused. "I like it," he pronounced, before turning to leave. "If yer ever in the mood fer some tea, come an' visit me, Harry!" he yelled over his shoulder.  
  
Harry grinned at Hagrid's retreating back, and shut the front door. According to Dumbledore, someone would be over to set charms to protect the house. Glancing at the clock, he dragged his trunk into the bedroom, deciding to unpack as he waited. Pulling his clothes out of the trunk, Harry looked grimly at the closet. His clothes barely took up a quarter of the space, and his boxers looked lonely in the large armoire. Placing his assorted schoolbooks on the bookshelf, he glanced around again, taking in the calming atmosphere. It really is a lighthouse, Harry mused. It's a beacon of hope.  
  
***  
  
Ginny carried the small trunk behind her as she trailed up the front walk, mouth agape at the sprawling Victorian. It's beautiful, she breathed to herself, then shut her mouth determinedly. Continuing up to the door briskly, she rapped on the door, bringing her trunk into her hands.  
***  
  
Harry sauntered toward the front door, hand close to his wand as he neared it. Opening it cautiously, his eyes widened as he saw Ginny Weasley standing there holding some sort of trunk. He forced a bit of a smile on his face. "Uh . . . hi, Ginny, this isn't the best of times . . . "  
  
Ginny made a noise of frustration. "Now, I know you hate balls, Harry, but you must get new dress robes for the Ministry party. Be a man about this, all I need to do is a little measuring," she said with a small grin.  
  
He was about to protest, but swore he saw Ginny give a wink as she pushed past him. "All right, but this better not take long," he agreed, still wondering what Ministry party she was talking about.  
  
"There's a good boy," Ginny replied, her grin getting larger. She dropped her trunk as she got inside, and turned to face him. "A bit dense, aren't we?" she questioned, her gaze wandering to take in the charmed ceiling.  
  
Harry gave a slight smile and a shrug. "You know me. Now, could you explain what this is about? I never heard anything about a Ministry party."  
  
Ginny broke into peals of laughter. "That's because there is no Ministry party! I'm the person Dumbledore sent to charm your house, but not very many people know that I'm involved in this stuff. I design dress robes for Madam Malkin as a cover, thus the trunk and the excuse about the Ministry party." She wagged a finger at him. "You never know who can be listening or watching."  
  
"When did you get so good at charms, Miss Weasley?" Harry questioned, reflecting her grin.  
  
"You could say it started with the creation of the Bat Bogey Hex, and 'took off' from there," she replied with a laugh.  
  
"It's good to see you, Ginny, it's been too long. How's the family?"  
  
"We're hanging in there. Fred and George's joke shop is wonderful, and Mum's doing better with things, now that there's more than just the Order fighting against You-Know-Who. And Fudge's recent resignation helped her mood," she added.  
  
"Helped mine too," Harry said with a harsh laugh that sounded more like a bark. "Been waiting for that bastard to go for quite some time."  
  
Ginny patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Mum's worried about you. You know, eating well and such. She doesn't want you to be a stranger. No one eats as well as you," she added with a mischievous giggle.  
  
Harry groaned. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"  
  
With a shake of her head, Ginny replied, "Nope. I don't care that you hadn't eaten for a day. It was so funny, you shoving that food in your mouth, and Mum doing that dance for joy that someone would eat that ridiculous recipe out of Witch Weekly."  
  
Harry joined her giggles with a deep laugh that trailed off slowly. "Ah, Gin, I've missed you. Do you want a cup of tea?"  
  
She gave a nod, an unreadable look on her face, and quickly checked her newly-bobbed hair in a compact when his back was turned. He called me Gin, she thought in a rush. What the hell? No one ever calls me anything but Ginny, not even Mum! With a shrug, she moved into the kitchen, observing the windows and the cheery demeanor that was instantly relaxing.  
  
"So, how do you like the Lighthouse?" Harry asked, handing her a cup.  
  
"Is that what you named it? It's beautiful, so . . . relaxing," Ginny added.  
  
Harry gave a short laugh. "Yes, it is." Then he seemed to realize how he was talking, since he continued with, "Look at me, talking your ear off while you're probably dying to get to work. Next time just tell me to shut up."  
  
Ginny smiled. "No, it's fine, really. I haven't seen you in such a long time, but we can talk after I'm done. Now, we don't want a secret keeper, this house is too noticeable to disappear. We want . . . " she left off, grabbing a notepad out of her pocket and jotting ideas on it.  
  
Harry raised his eyebrows. For a second there she reminded him of Hermione, always making lists and such. Then she looked up and caught his eye and he realized that Ginny was like no one else he knew. Since when did she have such a fire in her eyes? And when did she cut her hair? He shook his head impatiently, clearing his thoughts when he realized that she was speaking to him. "Pardon?"  
  
"I said, would you mind me taking a look around the house to see if there's any charms I might want to add?" she asked with another smile.  
  
Harry shook his head. "Oh, no, go ahead. Do you mind if I come along?"  
  
"Of course not," she replied, then paused. "Do you think you'll be lonely here, with only Hedwig?"  
  
Harry gave her a wistful smile. "Probably. But I'm used to it now."  
  
Ginny smacked his arm impatiently. "Silly git. You don't have to be used to it. You should come to the Burrow more often and visit us!"  
  
"And you should know by now how impossible it is," Harry replied impatiently.  
  
Ginny rolled her eyes and tried to deepen her voice and look official. "Auror business." Then she looked him in the eye. "Nothing is impossible, Harry. You just have to find ways around the obstacles."  
  
Harry deflated. "Yeah, you're right. But you better not gloat," he warned her.  
  
"Who, me?" Ginny questioned, opening her eyes wide and batting her eyelashes. She started giggling again at Harry's laugh and went up the stairs to the attic. "Oh, my . . . "  
  
He winced. "I know. I think every bloody picture ever painted is in this attic right now. Which is fine by me, but . . . it's going to take too much time to go through them all."  
  
"Well, I'm sure no one could be worse than Mrs. Black," she comforted with a pat to the arm.  
  
"You're probably right. Have you got all your notes?"  
  
"Yes, I do, just give me a second, we'll be setting your house up to be another Hogwarts. I'm just happy I don't have to set up Anti-Apparation wards. Those are bloody awful."  
  
"I suppose they are," Harry replied absently, more intent on the retreating figure in front of him. Sitting himself at the kitchen table, he watched her fling colored spells at different walls, windows, and floors for a quarter of an hour before she sat herself back at the table for her now- cold tea.  
  
"So how do these protection charms work?" he questioned. "Do you get them out of books?"  
  
"Well, what good would that be, if they could just look up how to reverse it?" Ginny countered. "I just combine elements from spells I like, and some I make up, so they're almost impossible to break. Even Bill has trouble with them, and he knows how I make them," she finished proudly.  
  
Harry looked at Ginny with admiration. "That's amazing, Gin. So what exactly did you do?"  
  
Ginny flushed with pleasure. "Well, it's fairly simple. I did a ward similar to the Dissillusionment charm on the house, and then added a few things from Egyptian Curse Masters. I set up a perimeter around the house and sealed the entrances. If the person coming toward the house is someone you want to see, they won't have any problem. If the person is someone you don't want to see, but doesn't mean you harm, it will just be a barrier they can't cross. If the person coming means you harm, an alarm will go off, and you can take the tunnel in the basement back to Hogwarts while my wards attack the intruder with some jinxes and other nasties I've learned. And the great thing about all this, is that you know exactly who is coming, no matter what the situation is."  
  
The admiration on Harry's face grew as Ginny talked. It was the first time he had felt safe in quite some time, and it had come from a most-unexpected source. With a grin, he spoke up. "Well, you seem to be my new redheaded security blanket," he joked, then sobered. "Thank you so much, you have no idea how much this really means to me . . ."  
  
Ginny looked into his eyes searchingly before answering softly, "I think I do."  
  
They sat for a few moments in companionable silence before the clock struck eight, leaving Ginny shooting straight up in the air, hand over her mouth in startled surprise. "I've got to go! My new designs are supposed to be in tomorrow morning! Oh, Harry, thank you for the tea," she rushed, putting her things together and transfiguring her trunk into a backpack after pulling out a broom. "And I meant it when I said not to be a stranger," she added, staring into his face again with her disconcerting brown eyes.  
  
"All right, Ginny," Harry replied, walking her to the door. "Take care."  
  
Leaning against the doorframe, Harry glanced down at the floor muttering to himself. If the walls could hear the words beautiful, I'm, and stupid, they weren't talking. Instead, they left Harry to his solitude and an evening petting Hedwig as he listened to WWN. All in all, it was not the dream evening any twenty-year-old envisioned after seeing a woman he had a crush on, and having it brought back to life.  
  
But those thoughts were firmly shoved aside as Harry fell asleep on the couch to a burning scar and the dreams of death that haunted his life. 


	2. A Letter

Ginny sat for a long time in front of the blank paper musing to herself. It had been a long time since she'd seen Harry–he'd always been too busy dashing off somewhere to talk much lately. She idly wondered when the last time he'd had a proper meal was, then smiled with a bit of shock. She was turning into her Mum!  
  
Harry had seemed shocked that she was the one Dumbledore used for work like this, but that meant she was kept safe, which was considerably important. She had been alternating between the Burrow and Grimmauld Place, and her cover at Madam Malkin's was easily accepted. It was an easy job, low pay, but something she loved to do. With a jolt, Ginny stopped her mind's rambling and looked to the paper again. She needed designs for Winter, since Autumn was just beginning, and if she didn't get started, the shop would never have enough to supply the Yule rush.  
  
Pulling out swatches of fabric, she laid them out across the desk, trying to pick a color for her first design. Her hand automatically roved to a green swatch, and she pushed the thought of Harry's eyes out of her mind, sternly telling herself it was for the holidays. Quickly jotting some notes on the paper, she reflected how Harry's rambling Victorian house had given her inspiration. It was beautiful, and it reminded her of the Burrow a bit, since it seemed to spread every which way. Shaking her head in frustration, she was shocked to find how quickly he took over her thoughts again. It would do her no good to listen to the voice that taunted her, nor the one that built romantic castles in the air. They were friends, nothing more.  
  
***  
  
Harry woke early, the sun in his eyes, and a crick in his neck. "Bugger," he muttered to himself, massaging it and blinking his eyes at the brightness of the room. Glancing at his watch, he scowled at the figures marking half-past six, and marched over to the shower in a decidedly foul mood. The combination of the house and shower left him feeling more relaxed, and just looking around left him more than grateful. After eating the last of the toast – the only thing he'd brought was a loaf of bread– Harry realized that he'd have to eventually make his way to the grocers. I should stop in Hogsmeade before work, he thought.  
  
The store was packed with aisles of food that he didn't even know existed, and spices he had no idea how to use, Muggle or magical. Trying not to gape, he hurriedly loaded the necessities into his basket and paid just as fast. It hadn't occurred to him before how little he knew of everyday wizarding life. Killing time, he looked at the clock as he fed Hedwig, and sighed. He wasn't due until nine, and not having anything to do was killing him. Deciding to write to Ron and Hermione, he pulled out some parchment with a grin. Though he was seeing less of them these days, he was extremely happy for them.  
  
Dear Newlyweds,  
Hope everything is well with the new flat. The house – The  
Lighthouse – is absolutely fabulous! It's huge! You could come  
live here (I'm serious), and we'd still hardly ever run into  
each other. It's this bright color of yellow that will  
eventually make me blind, but I love it already.  
  
Congratulations, Ron, on your promotion. Maybe I'll need you to  
"write a report" or something and visit you in Magical Games and  
Sports. Hermione, I hope you're doing well on your  
research....You have gotten over that withdrawal from Hogwarts  
library, right? The tremors have stopped? Ha ha.  
  
Don't let her work too hard, Ron. I'm going to the Burrow next  
Sunday for dinner, hope to see you two there, and we'll talk  
more once we're in person.  
Harry  
  
He tied the letter to Hedwig's leg and sent her off, then readied himself for work. Grabbing his Firebolt, he glanced at the fireplace. It would be so much easier to Floo, but it would jeopardize his safety. So he flew, rain and shine, on the most boring broomstick flight he'd ever taken. Well, unless you counted the time he almost flew into a plane... With a grin, he took off towards the apparation point about 5 miles from the house, fingers crossed for the day.  
  
As he entered the Auror's division, Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that it was fairly quiet. Nodding to Linda, the secretary, he went to his cubicle to fill out the necessary paperwork from the fight two days ago. They'd managed to get Bellatrix Lestrange, Crabbe Jr., Goyle Jr., and Nott, which was a satisfying feeling for him at least. Only two Death Eaters had managed to escape, and the Aurors hadn't faced any casualties.  
  
All in all, Harry reflected, it had been a good raid. They'd gotten to the scene before the Dark Mark was launched, and the Muggles were only stunned. Still, the two escapees left Harry with mounds of paperwork to identify, conjecture locations, and other bureaucratic mumbo-jumbo he'd rather avoid.  
  
***  
  
"Wotcher, Harry. Brought you some lunch. Ready to come up for air?" Tonks startled him, holding a brown paper bag, and a sisterly air.  
  
He smiled. "You bet. Not bloody likely they'll stop all this paperwork, but a guy can hope."  
  
Tonks leaned over to ruffle his hair. "That's the spirit. Or, you could just get promoted like me, and get a secretary," she added impishly.  
  
"I like Field Officer just fine. How's your stuff been going?"  
  
"We've got 'em on the run! This is the beginning of the end, I can tell," she said confidently.  
  
Harry's brows wrinkled in concern, thinking about the prophecy. "Well, I hope so," he said slowly, knowing it would eventually come down to him and Voldemort. "I mean, he's bound to run out of ideas soon."  
  
Tonks grinned widely. "He already has. Intelligence reports have him plotting to run, and he's starting to doubt the loyalty of his Death Eaters. Long as he doesn't catch our spies, he's going to be toasted really soon."  
  
"Unless he's running to cause chaos somewhere else," Harry added darkly.  
  
"Oh cheer up, Harry," Tonks replied. "I'm just trying to make your day better."  
  
Harry forced a half-smile to his lips. "I know. I've just got other stuff on my mind." He then managed a real smile, thinking how she always tried to look after him. "Thanks for trying, and thanks for the lunch. I really have to finish this paperwork though..."he trailed off.  
  
Tonks laughed. "I know, I know. Duty calls. Just make sure to eat, we can't lose our best Field Agent, can we?" she asked, leaving his cubicle.  
  
***  
  
The day seemed like it would never end. Every time Harry looked at the clock, he was disappointed by the time. Not that he had anything to go home to, but he was eager to leave all the same. With a sigh, he finished his paperwork, and puttered around the desk, waiting for the day to end. When the clock finally hit five, he let out a sigh of relief and grabbed his broom. The Lighthouse was calm and serene. He may not have much to do, but home was infinitely better than the mounds of paperwork at the Ministry. He realized that he should probably go through the paintings, but brushed that idea away as fast as it came. I'll do that later.  
  
He was just sitting down to eat when a tawny owl arrived who he didn't recognize. Pulling the parchment off, he regarded it with open curiosity. Opening the letter, Harry was even more puzzled by the childish scrawl.  
  
Dear Harry Potter,  
This is my owl Snoop. I got to give him away but I'm sending you a  
letter first. See my parents were killed by You Know Who just like  
yours. I hid under the bed, and they forgot about me and then you and  
the other Aurors showed up. The bad guys ran away and you found me.  
I'm staying with the Becketts and they said you wouldn't remember me  
but I bet you would. My name is Miranda and I'm 9 years old. I was  
wondering. Could you write me a letter before I go to the orphanage?  
The Becketts can't keep me, and it's a Muggle orphanage! I don't get  
to keep my toy broomstick either! But I'd like a letter from you,  
cause I could keep that while I wait to go to Hogwarts. And since  
you're an orphan too, I figured you'd understand.  
Thanks,  
Miranda Alexander.  
  
Harry's face was unreadable as he finished the letter. He did remember the girl, and his heart ached for her even more now than it did that night. He was surprised how easily he had pushed that fight out of his mind, but with everything going at breakneck pace, he understood how it happened.  
  
Her father had been a journalist that wrote an article that displeased the Death Eaters, and they had come for him the night the paper came out. It was a miracle Miranda had survived. He found her under the bed, a pillow shoved over her mouth to keep from making noise and totally hysterical.  
  
She'd had to listen to the sounds of her parents under the Cruciatus Curse, and it made him ache. She had gone to a neighbor to live, but by the sounds of it, she was being carted off to a Muggle orphanage. His heart contracted. He knew too well what it was like as an orphan. Setting her letter down, he decided to pay a visit to Dumbledore before replying.  
  
The tunnel made quick work of getting there, but it was guessing the password to the office that Harry found took too much time. After a long time guessing every type of sweet there was, he finally hit gold with Canary Cream. Rolling his eyes, Harry entered. The Weasley twins had definitely managed to leave their mark everywhere they went.  
  
Sitting himself down, he waited as patiently as he could for Dumbledore to arrive. Since school had started, he was sure there were a lot of things the Headmaster had to do, but he couldn't help but feel that this was genuinely pressing.  
  
Dumbledore entered with a benign smile. "Good evening, Harry. I had a feeling someone needed me. What can I do for you?"  
  
Harry cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not sure, really." He paused. "Do they have wizarding orphanages?" he blurted out.  
  
"Not very many. It's hard for a wizarding child to end up there, unless they've started Hogwarts, what with the overcrowding they're facing. Unfortunately, since there are so few orphanages, and not many spots, many children go to Muggle orphanages. Is there a particular reason for this?" Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Yes, this girl..." Harry fidgeted. "She's nine. She wrote me a letter. I was with the group of Aurors who rescued her last week. She's being sent off to a Muggle orphanage because the neighbors can't keep her. But... she's nine. She's been brought up as a wizard. And now she has to give it all up. And the chances of being adopted at that age aren't so good either. And I thought," Harry said slowly, as if thinking out loud.  
  
Dumbledore straightened his eyeglasses. "Ah. You want to take this child in? Is that it?"  
  
"Im not sure," Harry confessed. "I'm busy during the day. I don't know anything about parenting. But...I want her to be happy. And I think it'd be the right thing. I just need someone who I trust to tell me their opinion."  
  
"I think you'll make an excellent father, Harry," Dumbledore said quietly. "If this decision is right for you, which I believe it is, then, you'll be just fine at raising this girl. You have to start somewhere, better a nine year old than an infant."  
  
Harry smiled ruefully. "I suppose you're right. Now, how would I go about all of this? I'd like to talk to Miranda first, but if she's willing, I'd like it to be legal, just in case."  
  
"I've got just the thing..."  
  
***  
  
Harry's reply to Miranda didn't mention his conversation with Dumbledore. Instead, it simply talked about how he was sure she was strong, and that he knew how she felt. At the end, he asked if he could meet her. With an extra pat, he sent Snoop off again and hoped Hedwig would be back soon with the reply from Ron and Hermione.  
  
His stomach growled, and Harry was startled to realize that he'd forgotten to eat. Grabbing some lunchmeat and fixing a sandwich, he ate quickly. It had been an unusual day for him, and the full weight of what he was deciding came crashing down on him. What if I'm not good enough? I don't know anything about kids! What if...what if I get killed as well? Am I making the right decision?  
  
A tapping sound jolted him back to reality, and Harry realized that Snoop was back again, and rather quickly. He'd forgotten that they lived so close. The note from Miranda was short, but said she could meet him tonight, if he would like. Sending Snoop back with an owl treat, Harry grabbed his broomstick and flew towards the tiny village. It was a short flight, and infinitely better than the bleary-eyed flight from the morning.  
  
Kicking down when he saw the small cottage, he kept his eyes away from the burnt house down the lane where Miranda's parents had been killed. He felt sick; she'd had to see that every day. Knocking on the front door, he shifted his weight impatiently, willing the door to open.  
  
A stout woman answered the door, and she reminded him a bit of Molly Weasley. She had a friendly face, but there were worry lines around her face, and more than her fair share of gray hairs on her head. "Harry Potter?" she questioned. "Miranda's been aw up in knots abit ye wantin' tae see 'er. It's mighty braw ay ye."  
  
Harry tipped his head with embarassment. "Oh, thank you. I mean, it was something I had to do," he said, following her into the tiny front room. The three blonde children chasing each other through the chairs were the Becketts, he assumed, while Miranda sat on the couch tapping her foot and looking up at the clock.  
  
"Miranda? Someain here tae see ye," Mrs. Beckett told her, before shooing the other children back into the kitchen. "I'll jist lit ye two talk."  
  
Harry took a seat across from her, unsure how to begin. It was the first time he got a good look at her. She had wavy black hair that was tangled and brushing her shoulders, fair skin with a dash of freckles, and light brown eyes that were looking at him with a mixture of awe and seriousness.  
  
Harry decided to get to the point. "Miranda, your letter was very important to me. I do know how you feel, since I'm an orphan too," he paused.  
  
Miranda's eyes lit. "I knew it! I knew you'd know. Mrs. Beckett said it was no use, but I knew better," she interrupted confidently.  
  
Harry grinned at her sass. "Well, your letter made me think. And I was wondering, would you rather go live in an orphanage, or someone else's house?"  
  
Miranda thought for a moment, biting her lip. "Well, it'd depend on who I lived with. Whether they'd be nice to me, and if I could be a wizard instead of pretending to be a Muggle. Why?" she asked, hope starting to shine in her eyes.  
  
"After reading your letter, I talked to some people, and...if you wanted, you could live with me. I'd adopt you and be your guardian. But that's only if you want," he added hastily.  
  
"Live with you? And you'd let me! And I'd be a real wizard! Does this mean I get to keep Snoop and my broom?" she questioned eagerly.  
  
Harry nodded. "I take it that means yes?" he questioned with a smile.  
  
Miranda threw her arms around him ecstatically. "Of course it does!"  
  
Harry felt a bit awkward with the hug, though he was happy, but looked at her seriously. "Now, Miranda, I don't know much about girls, so you've got to be patient with me," he warned her.  
  
Miranda kept her smile, and patted his arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll learn fast," she replied mischievously.  
  
Harry laughed. "Okay then. Want to get your stuff together while I talk to Mrs. Beckett?"  
  
Miranda obediently ran off, and he talked to the housewife, who was overjoyed that Miranda had an actual home. "Ye mustn't think bad ay us, Mr. Potter," she pleaded. "It's jist, weel, money's tight, 'an we've awready got uir three--"  
  
Harry cut her off. "Don't worry, Mrs. Beckett. I understand. And this was something I wanted to do, please don't think that I'm looking down on you. Everyone's just trying to get by in times like these."  
  
"Yoo're a good man. An' if Miranda ever wants tae come visit, feel free tae drap by onie time. It's aye good tae have friends."  
  
"That it is," Harry agreed, taking Miranda's small trunk as she hugged Mrs. Beckett. "Let me know if you need any help around here." Harnessing the trunk to his broomstick, he eyed it critically before helping Miranda on the back. "Hang on tight," he instructed her, then glanced around, taking in the scenery, Moody's voice shouting "constant vigilance!" echoing in his head.  
  
It took some time to show Miranda the house, and even longer for her to decide on the lavender room on the second floor. Harry helped her unpack, explained the secret tunnel to her, and finally got her into bed. It was exhausting. At ten o' clock, he finally sat himself down at the kitchen and wrote a note to Mrs. Weasley asking if he could bring a guest to dinner.  
  
Hedwig still wasn't back, so he sent Snoop with it, then ran his fingers through his hair. It was true. He didn't know anything about girls. Maybe I'll owl Ginny about it tomorrow...  
  
With those thoughts, he dragged himself off to bed, not bothering to put on pyjamas as he flopped onto the bed. It had only been a few hours, and Miranda was already tiring. Harry was starting to wonder just what he'd gotten himself into... 


	3. Miranda

1A/N: Wow, it's been a long time! If any of you are still with me, it will be a miracle indeed. I rewrote the first two chapters a bit ago, and uploaded those changes around March. If you haven't read them, I've changed just a bit of the wording, some characterization. I've got a wonderful beta from , Joe, who's been a great help with this story. I'm so sorry about the delays, and I hope to have Chapter Four up sometime in the next three weeks.   
  
Though he couldn't be sure exactly what woke him, Harry found himself sitting bolt upright in bed halfway through the night. Unable to fall asleep, he lay there for a minute, then let his paranoia get the best of him. Even though the alarms weren't going off, he found himself going through the house, checking every room for disturbances. Once he reached the third floor, he paused outside Miranda's door, unsure how to address the muffled crying he heard.  
  
Tapping softly on her door, he spoke quietly. "Miranda? Is everything all right?" Almost immediately, he reproached himself for the question. Of course everything isn't all right, you dolt, she's crying. He could hear her take big, gulping breaths of air, and the shaky half-sobs of someone who's cried themselves out.  
  
"I'm fine," she croaked out, hiccupping at the end.  
  
Harry frowned, less uncertain. Pushing open the door, he cautiously entered and sat himself on the end of her bed. They didn't know each other well, but Harry figured he knew enough about what she was feeling. "Miranda, it's ok to not be fine. It's....it's okay to cry," he told her, struggling for the right words. "I understand that you're sad, and probably angry, and I'm not going to be angry or disappointed if you are. You don't have to pretend everything's ok." He paused again, trying to express himself clearly. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'll be here to listen. And, if you ever feel like breaking things, I'll be happy to put them back together," he told her with a slight smile. He put an arm around her shoulders, unsure about the action, but gave in to the impulse to give her a light hug.  
  
As the hiccups started to subside, Miranda took another shaky breath. "Thanks," she replied, then lapsed into silence again. Her head rested itself against his shoulder, and Harry wondered if he was doing everything all right. Abruptly, Miranda asked, "What do I call you anyway?"  
  
The question was so unexpected, Harry was at a loss. "Uh...well, you could call me Harry, I guess. Mr. Potter would make me feel way too old, and I'm more like your brother than a guardian or anything...is that all right with you?"  
  
"Yeah," Miranda said, nodding. Following a train of thought, she asked, "Do I have to change my name?"  
  
"No, not if you don't want to. You're Miranda Alexander. If you want to add Potter to that, you can, but you definitely don't have to decide tonight."  
  
Miranda thought for a moment. "You're a good brother, Harry."  
  
He flushed at her praise. "Thanks. Now, I think you should try and get some sleep. Tomorrow we're going to get you some clothes, cause I doubt you want my hand-me downs."  
  
Miranda cracked a smile. "Thank you. I'll try to go to bed now."  
  
Harry nodded and ruffled her hair. "Night." Going back to his room, he wearily shut his eyes and anticipated tomorrow. It was one of his few days off, and if he didn't buy Miranda some clothing, she'd be stuck with the clothes out of the Becketts ragbag. This was only one more reason to hate the Death Eaters and their scorched earth campaign. He choked back the bitter taste in his mouth. Voldemort disgusted him.  
  
The next morning came too early for both residents of the Lighthouse, and Hedwig's insistent tapping at breakfast made Harry feel even groggier. Pulling Ron and Hermione's letter from her, her set it aside to write a short note to Ginny. Once that was complete, he sent Hedwig off with a sympathetic pat, more awake and ready to read the letter.   
  
Dear Harry,  
  
Our new flat is nice, but I'm glad we're only renting it. The Lighthouse sounds positively massive. You can't be serious about us living with you there; that would be more than a little odd. You might want to think about changing the colour of the house though, it sounds more than a little noticeable.   
  
What's wrong with yellow? Anyway, mate, you should come visit my department at the ministry. Since the World Cup match has been cancelled, we're stuck trying to get a Quodpot team from America to come over. Idiotic sport. No one wants to go to a Quodpot game. Please, come save me from myself!  
  
If he really wanted something to do, he would help me with my research. And, no, Harry, I'm not "in withdrawal." The library at Oxford's magical branch is more than sufficient, thank you.   
  
By the way she's writing, you can tell she's wound tighter than a bloody spring, can't you? It's even worse than NEWTs; she just won't stop studying! Now she's threatening me with a book twice the size of her precious 'Hogwarts, A History!" I swear, chuck that at You Know Who, and even he would keel over!  
  
Harry, we'll see you at the Burrow. And, I am not 'wound tighter than a spring.' Ron just doesn't understand. Anyway, take care, and stay safe.  
  
Love,  
  
Ron and Hermione  
  
Harry cracked a grin as Miranda stumbled into the kitchen. "There's cereal in the pantry," he told her, amused by her lack of cheer. She was clearly not a morning person. His amusement grew as she hunched over her cereal bowl at the table, glaring at the sun. The cheery nightgown she wore was a direct contrast to the scowl on her face, and Harry couldn't help but see himself in her lack of enthusiasm. Hearing a soft chime from the wards, he realized that Ginny was nearing the house from the tunnel. That was fast.  
  
"What's that?" Miranda mumbled, her mouth full of cereal. He noticed how full her bowl was and made note to get more Quidditch Puffs at the grocers.  
  
"Just a friend of mine. I thought she could help us with the shopping."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Harry?" Ginny's concerned voice floated up from the cellar. "Is everything okay?" she questioned, stopping short at the top of the stairs. She looked from Miranda to Harry quizzically, clearly wanting an explanation.  
  
Harry quirked a smile. "Ginny Weasley, I'd like you to meet Miranda Alexander, newest resident of the Lighthouse." As Miranda was engrossed in her cereal, he stepped closer to Ginny and lowered his voice. "Her family was attacked by Death Eaters, and the wizarding orphanages are all full, so I decided to help out."  
  
Ginny's face changed from puzzlement into something unreadable. "That's so sweet, Harry! But, what do you need my help with? I thought there was an emergency by the way you'd written!"  
  
He hadn't realized his note came off that way, and felt guilty. "Well, I need to buy some clothes for Miranda, and I'm so sorry that you came rushing over. I understand that you probably have plans of your own, and—"  
  
"No, no, it's fine," Ginny interrupted. "Just don't worry me like that again!" she scolded. "The shop's doing inventory today, and, if you don't mind, I'll come along with you."  
  
Harry swallowed. "Of course I don't mind." He was starting to get uncomfortable. Ginny was looking at him with admiration, and he couldn't help but notice how pretty she looked this morning. Realizing he was staring, Harry flushed and looked at Miranda, who suddenly looked more alert over her breakfast cereal. Harry almost groaned. She was looking at the two of them with interest.   
  
"Well, I'll just let you two get ready then," Ginny remarked, moving to pour herself a cup of coffee.  
  
As Miranda moved off to her bathroom, Harry realized he was still in his pyjamas as well. "Oh, right, sorry," he muttered, exiting the kitchen as well. As he went into his bedroom, he could still hear Ginny laughing in the kitchen. When, exactly, had she become this off-putting to him?  
  
When he came back, Miranda was dressed, and Ginny was braiding her hair, telling some story about a Quidditch practice when Harry fell off his broom. He rolled his eyes. "It's all lies, I swear. It never happened," he protested weakly, running a hand through his damp hair. He had put on jeans and a wrinkled button-down, holding two robes in his hands. "Green or blue?" he questioned.  
  
"Green," Miranda replied quickly, wrinkling her nose at the blue ones. "The blue clashes with your shirt."  
  
Ginny laughed again. "Definitely the green."  
  
Harry let out an exaggerated sigh. "As you wish," he replied, laying the blue on the kitchen table. He was pleased to see a smile on Miranda's face, and this time, it seemed more genuine. "Are you going to be at the Burrow Sunday?" he asked Ginny.  
  
She looked at him curiously. "I live there, why wouldn't I be there for family supper?"  
  
"Where's the Burrow? Am I going?" Miranda interrupted.  
  
"Ottery St. Catchpole, and yes," Harry replied, fastening his robes and checking his wand.  
  
"It's my house, with my mum and dad, and the rest of the family will be there too," Ginny explained.  
  
Miranda still looked curious. "Do you have a lot of family?  
  
Harry let out a short laugh. "It's not too big. Just Ginny, and her brothers Ron, Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill."  
  
Miranda's eyes widened. "Wow."  
  
"Don't forget, we've got Fleur, Angelina, Alicia, and Hermione. Those are some of my brother's wives," Ginny added.  
  
If possible, Miranda looked more awed as Harry added more people to the list. "Then there's Ginny's nieces and nephews. Let's see, there's uh...Danielle, Isabelle, Arthur, Hailey, Michael, and Cameron."  
  
"That's a lot," Miranda finally said, not sure how to reply. "Are you married?" she asked Ginny.  
  
Ginny let out a laugh. "No, I'm not. I only finished school last year," she told her. Noticing the hem falling out of her robe, she knelt next to Miranda. "Here, let me fix that."  
  
"How old are the kids?" Miranda asked as Ginny went to work.  
  
Harry's face bunched in concentration, but he gave up and went over to the fridge, grabbing a piece of paper. "It's my cheat sheet," he explained. "Ok, Bill is married to Fleur. They have Danielle, who's almost 5, Isabelle, who's 3, and Arthur, who is on his way. Then there's Charlie, who isn't married. Then there's Fred and George, they're twins. Fred is married to Angelina, and they have Hailey, who's 2, and Michael who's 9 months. George is married to Alicia, and they just had Cameron, who everyone calls Cammie, about 5 months ago. Ron and Hermione just got married." Finishing his speech, he took a breath and placed the sheet back on the fridge.  
  
"No wonder you have a cheat sheet," Miranda said with a giggle. She looked at her hem, and smiled. "Thanks for fixing that."  
  
Ginny smiled; it was easy to see why Harry had taken her in. "Are we ready?" she questioned, pulling out a gold bangle bracelet. "I've got a voice-activated portkey to the shop, if you'd like," she offered.  
  
"Definitely better than flying," Harry commented, hooking a finger over the bracelet. He couldn't catch what Ginny muttered, but he felt the familiar pulling sensation as the portkey was activated. He ended up sprawled on the floor of Madam Malkin's stockroom, but it was much better than being covered in soot, or flying. Getting up hastily, he followed the girls out into the shop.  
  
Ginny headed towards the door. "I've got just the shop in mind," Ginny told them, heading towards a small shop a few doors down. It had a collection of Muggle and wizard clothes that were geared towards younger wizards. Along with the robes and charmed shoelaces were regular jumpers and trousers for everyday wear. After a few suggestions that were turned down, Harry sat himself in a chair, letting Ginny take the lead. He really didn't mind that his sense of style was found 'lacking.'  
  
Once she had gotten Miranda off into the dressing room, Ginny turned to Harry with a smile. "You look amused," she teased.  
  
"Oh, I am," Harry replied, throwing her a grin.   
  
Ginny felt her insides melt. Impulsively, she reached forward and smoothed the front of his hair down. "It's always so messy," she tried to remark lightly, then went back to check on Miranda.  
  
With a blink, Harry wondered exactly what had just happened. Ginny always threw him off like that. He could never tell if she was simply being friendly or wanting something more. Any time he managed to get the courage to ask her, the situation always was interrupted. Realizing his mind had drifted, he snapped back to attention. They were the only ones in the shop, but he should have known better. His eyes scanning the perimeter, he realized he couldn't afford to relax. Not when I have Miranda and Ginny with me, he thought, feeling guilty. If something had happened, it would have been his fault.   
  
What am I going to do with Miranda? He thought, once again startled. There's no guarantee I'll survive. What happens if I don't? Where will she go? Am I even fair in taking her in? Harry's grim thoughts were interrupted when Ginny came back with three bags and a delighted Miranda. For the rest of the day, he was dragged shop to shop, until he was finally rewarded with a rest at Florean Fortescues.   
  
After staring unseeing at his melting cone, Harry looked up at a concerned Ginny. "Uh, Ginny, would you like to stay for dinner? I'd like to talk to you about something," he added quickly.  
  
Ginny bit her lip, telling herself that this wasn't romantic in the least. "Sure," she paused, searching for conversation. "Mum's bursting with curiosity. She's been badgering everyone who your guest is. She keeps asking Ron when you got a girlfriend, and he keeps swearing you would have told him. It's quite funny, actually."   
  
Harry smiled. "Well, I am bringing a girl, technically. Miranda's more like a sister than a girlfriend though."  
  
"You two could pass for siblings," Ginny replied, studying the two. "You've both got dark hair, and you're a bit alike with the nose and mouth."  
  
Looking at Miranda, Harry cocked his head. "I guess we could. I didn't notice it before, but we do look a bit alike."  
  
"I just want to be a Potter," Miranda blurted out. "I mean, if we look alike, and you're like my brother, shouldn't we have the same name?"  
  
Ginny looked puzzled, but Harry was concerned with Miranda. "You really didn't think that long about it, Miranda. Once it's changed, you'll always be Potter. Are you really sure that's what you want?"  
  
Miranda nodded emphatically. "I'm not really an Alexander anymore. You're all the family I've got now. Why shouldn't we have the same name?"  
  
Harry remained unconvinced, sure that it was too soon for this decision. It just didn't seem right to him that she'd want to change her name so soon. It seemed like she was trying to forget all about them. "Well, I'm not going to change it right away. If you still want this in a month or two, we'll talk about it then. I don't want this to be something you regret later on."  
  
"I won't," Miranda said stubbornly, her jaw set.   
  
"We'll see," Harry dubiously replied.  
  
Changing the subject, Ginny tried to ease some of the tension. "Thank you for the ice cream, Harry."  
  
"My pleasure," he told her, giving her a grin that made her melt once again. It was truly baffling to her how, after eight years, he could still make her feel like a giggling first year. Feeling a blush fighting its way to her cheeks, Ginny almost groaned. If she could make it through dinner without embarrassing herself, it would be a miracle indeed. As if taunting her, a little voice in the back of her head started reciting, His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad... 


	4. Revelations

Harry eyed the scorched potatoes balefully, a heavy sigh in his throat. Ginny would be back soon, and he'd already managed to destroy everything edible in the kitchen. When did he become so bad at cooking? He used to be passable at least, he was sure. Looking from the pot to his wand, he wondered if it was possible to transfigure food without causing some sort of damage. Deep in thought, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Ginny's head popped up over his shoulder.

"Burnt the potatoes, have you?" she questioned with unchecked mirth. Drawing her own wand, she looked around the kitchen with a large smile on her face. "Would you mind if I helped?"

Readily agreeing, Harry moved back from the pot and found himself being bossed to death in seconds. Ginny seemed to have taken over the kitchen in one fell swoop, pots and pans practically dancing in the air overhead like some Disney movie he'd seen the Dursleys watching so long ago. He'd been given the simple task of chopping vegetable as Ginny dealt with the 'mess he'd made.' She'd even called Miranda in to set the table with a voice that was eerily similar to her mother's. Cracking a smile at the thought, he wondered if Ginny would be happy with that comparison.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. I would suggest you spend more time chopping, and less time grinning like a lunatic at your vegetables," a stern voice interrupted his thoughts, clearly trying to imitate Snape.

Harry laughed, looking up at the still-grinning redhead. "But Professor! Ten points! That's not fair!" he exclaimed in mock outrage.

Once her laughter had subsided, Ginny looked at the vegetables again. "No wonder you did so horribly at Potions," she remarked airily, and dumping the contents of the cutting board into the salad. "Here," she added, thrusting the bowl into his hands and returning to the pot on the stove. "If I'm not careful, this will boil over. Mix in the dressing, will you?"

Harry complied and then placed the salad at the table. Returning to the kitchen, he leaned against the doorframe, trying to stay out of her way, but still wanting to watch her cook. "Merlin, sometimes you remind me so much of your mum it's scary," he remarked lightly.

"Yes, well, at least I don't have half a dozen boys underfoot, so there's really no comparison," she replied, wondering when she had moved from sister to mother in Harry's mind. He really was the most infuriating boy ever!

As he helped her carry the rest of the dishes out, Harry quirked an eyebrow in her direction. "At such a young age, too. Tut, tut, Ginevra. You must learn to control yourself," he returned, his voice back to its previous teasing tone.

Ginny laughed, and the cool tone she had used moments ago was forgotten. However, the remark was not lost on Miranda, who had been watching the entire exchange. "Why do you have to control yourself? I thought you didn't have kids. And did Harry just call you Ginevra?" she asked, her curiosity clearly piqued.

Grinning widely, Ginny could see Harry was just as amused at she was. "Harry was teasing me, I don't have children," she explained as she took a seat. "Yes, my name is Ginevra also, though I much rather be called Ginny."

Miranda nodded sagely, which set Ginny to smothering her giggles. "I understand," she told her in a tone of long-suffering, which was quite comical on a young girl. "My middle name is Fawnessa, and I hate it more than anything. Dad wanted to name me Fawn, and Mum wanted Vanessa, so they compromised. I'd much rather have had Jane or something." Realizing who she had just talked about, Miranda began viciously stabbing at her salad, leaving Harry and Ginny at a loss.

"My brother Ron's middle name is Bilius," Ginny blurted after a moment's silence. "You can't get much worse than that," she added with an encouraging smile.

Harry shot her a grateful look. "Sure you can. Bilius could be his first name," he joked.

"I guess that is worse," Miranda said slowly, the tension in the room ebbing. She had stopped spearing her salad and was making eye contact with the two of them once more. "You're lucky you're so normal, Harry," she remarked, taking a bite of her pulverized lettuce.

Harry and Ginny shared another amused glance. "I guess I am," he said, trying to quickly think of another subject that Miranda could easily talk about. "What's your favorite Quidditch team, Miranda?" He could see Ginny roll her eyes at him, but he ignored that as best he could.

Miranda wrinkled her nose a bit.. "Well, I really don't like Quidditch that much, I like Quodpot much better. But if I had to pick a team, I'd pick the Harpies, cause they only let girls play. Isn't that cool?"

Ginny jumped to Harry's rescue once again, as he appeared flummoxed that Miranda could prefer Quodpot over Quidditch. "I think it is. You know Alicia, my brother George's wife, used to play for the Harpies. She's still a trainer for them too. She thinks its great fun," she added, taking a bite of her own salad.

"I guess it might be fun to play. But it sure is boring to watch," Miranda conceded, finishing off her plate. "Can I go check out the library now? I bet there's a ton of neat books in there."

"Sure," Harry agreed with a shake of his head. How did he get stuck with a miniature Hermione? She didn't even like Quidditch!

"She's a lot like Hermione," Ginny said, echoing his thoughts.

Harry sighed dramatically. "Well, she isn't half as bossy, so there is some hope for her yet," he replied, a smile on his face.

Once Miranda had gone off past earshot, Harry was faced with broaching the topic to Ginny, but he wasn't sure how to begin. It'd been hard enough to tell Ron and Hermione of the prophecy, and even though some years had past, it wasn't going to be pleasant. And, she'd probably be angry with him keeping it from her, he realized. It was not a conversation he was going to enjoy in the least.

Ginny watched as his face contorted as he debated something. "Spit it out, Harry,"she said softly, acutely aware that her fingers were itching to run themselves through his hair soothingly. He just looked so _upset_.

Letting out the breath he was holding, he reluctantly began. "Well, I wanted to say something, but I don't know how." He paused, then swore vividly. "First I need to tell you something not very many people know. I need you to promise me that what you learn here doesn't leave this room, ok?"

"I promise," Ginny swore, becoming even more worried at his outburst.

"Basically, there's a prophecy that either Voldemort or I will live when it comes down to it. It's kill or be killed, no way around it. And," he said, drawing an breath, "if I die—"

"No!" Ginny interrupted. "You won't die, are you listening to me! You've got so many friends, you are going to make it through this alive. There is no way—"

Harry interrupted patiently. "Ginny. I don't want to die, I said _if_. I have people to think about. And I guess I should have thought of this more before I brought Miranda into it. If I die, Miranda's going to be on her own again."

"Oh," Ginny said softly, her mind trying to wrap itself around all this new information.

"I, well, I have to ask you for a favor. If I die, I want Miranda somewhere safe. I know this is a lot to ask you, you look out for her? Make sure she ends up someplace safe?" he questioned anxiously.

Ginny face was an unreadable mix of emotions. "Of course I would do that, Harry. I'm, I'm honored you would trust me," she said, her voice still soft.

The room was quiet. Harry looked at her pale face with concern. Ginny looked pensive, and truth be told, slightly ill. He hadn't wanted to upset her, and he felt a wave of guilt. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"I don't want you to die." Ginny's voice came out in a harsh whisper, and she gritted her teeth, willing herself not to cry. She could see it in her head, Harry's lifeless body, she could hear Tom's voice, and that cold, cold laugh...She flinched when strong arms went around her shoulders.

Harry hugged Ginny, which felt odd, but he'd seen Ron do the same to her many times. It wasn't bad, just odd, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever be truly used to giving or receiving hugs. "I have no intention of dying," he said reassuringly. "I just want someone to look after Miranda. Everything's going to be ok, don't worry."

"I know, I know," Ginny replied with a sigh. She broke the hug and rose from the table, taking the dishes into the kitchen. She just had to clean something. Rinsing the plates, she sighed again. "It's just so hard, with everyone being in danger all the time. It's so hard to sit by while the people you love could, could....well, you know," she finished lamely.

Harry helped put the dishes back in the cupboard. "Yeah, I know," he said with a sigh of his own. He couldn't help but feel guilty for upsetting her, and wanted desperately to bring the light banter from before back. "Well, I have an idea to take your mind off that," he suggested with some foreboding.

Ginny's curiosity was peaked. "What?"

Harry scuffed a foot against a scuff mark on the floor. "If you want, we can go through some of the portraits in the attic. Only if you want," he added hastily, half-hoping that she wouldn't want to.

"Actually, that sounds interesting," she said. "You can get something up on the walls to keep you company too."

With a short nod, he lead her up to the attic, glancing in on Miranda in the library. "You're going to have to go to bed soon," he told her. "We've got to get up early."

She nodded absently, engrossed in a book, and Harry couldn't help but smile. When he headed up the stairs, his stomach began to twist. He'd never liked talking portraits—too many bad experiences. He highly doubted he'd find any to put on the walls, but maybe Ginny would want one, or know someone who would.

Surveying the large attic with a look of delight, Ginny moved to a stack of sheet covered frames leaning up against a dusty trunk. "Should we start here?" she questioned, flopping to the floor casually.

He sat reluctantly, bracing himself as she drew the sheet off the first. A tiny landscape. There was a breeze blowing through the flowering trees, and the sun was starting to creep over the tops. Flowers bobbed their heads in a perpetual breeze, and a tiny brook gurgled through the center of the painting. Harry visibly relaxed. "That's rather nice, actually," he commented, thinking about finding someplace in the house for it. Maybe Miranda would enjoy it?

Ginny gave him a brilliant smile that made his breath hitch. "It would look lovely if you put it up. Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," Harry admitted. "But this is only the first. Who knows what horrors we're going to come across," he said dryly.

Ginny scowled a bit, and reached for the second. This was an icy woman with a black pompadour that eyed them with disdain. "What do you want?" she snapped, her period clothing revealing its age. Ginny quickly covered it with a sheet again. "She seemed rather unpleasant. Maybe she can go to Hogwarts," she remarked, making another pile on the floor.

Harry reached for the third at the same time as Ginny, starting when his hand brushed against hers. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and was pleased to see a faint color in her cheeks. Trying not to grin, he looked at the sheet, almost afraid to draw it.

Ginny recovered before Harry, steeling herself and pushing her embarrassment away. She reached for the sheet, as it looked like he wouldn't, and her eyebrows disappeared into her hairline in shock. "Harry, it's you!" she exclaimed.

And it was. A smiling baby Harry gurgled and crawled around a nursery that had probably been at Godric's Hollow.

"Uh, I guess this was Sirius' when he lived here," he muttered quietly, feeling awkward and covering it with the sheet.

Ginny flinched a bit, wondering if he was angry that she wanted to look at the portraits. "Don't throw it away, at least," she said logically, setting it next to the uncovered landscape. His jaw was clenched, and Ginny was uncertain. Should she go for the next painting, or let it all go?

Harry actually reached for the next one, pulling the sheet off bravely. It was a Medieval scene, with a bunch of laughing children dancing around a maypole. One girl looked on, wearing a crown of flowers, and a pair of small boys were chasing a dog throughout the whole scene. He studied it for a moment, feeling calm once again. "This would be better in Miranda's room than the landscape," he commented, waving at the children who had turned to wave at them.

Setting it aside with the landscape, Ginny bit her lip. "Are you sure you want to keep doing this?" she questioned gently.

"Yes," Harry nodded. "I have to, eventually. I'd rather be doing it with someone like you," he told her honestly. She was sitting there with wide eyes, her lip between her teeth, and he was finding it more than difficult to focus on the portraits.

She flushed again and looked down. "Thank you," she said, pulling a sheet off the next frame, and peering at it intently.

A man in his early twenties blinked at them, closing the book that he held. He looked to be dated sometime around the turn of the century, and he greeted them with a friendly grin that had a hint of Sirius around the mouth and chin. He'd evidently left some of his personality with this portrait. "Hullo there, I'm Edward Black, at your service."

Harry gave a short nod, disconcerted, but going along with it. "Harry Potter."

"Ginny Weasley," Ginny introduced.

Edward's brows creased in thought, then cleared in recognition. "Ah, Potter. You're Sirius' godson. I thought the name sounded familiar. You own the house now?" he questioned.

Harry nodded, wondering where the conversation was going. He knew Dumbledore had conversations with the portraits in his office, but it was a totally new experience for him. He looked over at Ginny, only to find she was looking at him, leaving him to return his gaze to the man.

"Well, I'd like to inform you that I am quite partial to being hung in the library. Most of the books located there are from my own personal collection. I'm quite helpful if you are doing some sort of research," he added helpfully, clearly a bit eager to go back to his coveted position.

Ginny tried to smother a laugh. "I think he'd go quite nicely in the library," she told Harry, and received a flirtatious grin from the painting.

Harry gave a relaxed smile. "I don't see why that would be a problem, so you'll be back in the library tomorrow, Mr. Black."

"Oh, please, call me Edward. And that you so much, I'll be sure to direct you in the organization of the—"his words were cut off as a sheet was thrown over his frame once more.

"I thought you were going to put him in the library," Ginny questioned.

"I am," Harry replied, setting it in the growing pile. "I just don't want to be here all night with some chatty painting flirting with you and telling me how to organize my books. He and Hermione would get along, maybe I can get her to hang it."

Ginny's heart rose at Harry's tiny show of jealousy, and agreed with him. "They would get along. She'll have to come over sometime. She'd love your library."

"I was intending to ask her and Ron over on Sunday. Would you like to come over after supper as well?" He asked with a smile.

"Alright," Ginny agreed calmly, though she felt like dancing inside. They were good friends, but it was so nice to be included. There were still times when she felt like a total outsider when faced with the united front of the trio. Shaking her head impatiently, she reached for the next sheet.

"Wait, what was that?" Harry questioned, amusement written on his face.

"What?" Ginny asked, paranoid. She totally missed his amused tone in her panic. Were the wards down? Were they being attacked? Had she failed?

Harry grinned. "The head shake," he told her, and she relaxed. "It looked like you were arguing with yourself or something."

"Oh, nothing," Ginny returned quickly, still tense, but no longer panicking.

His teasing smile grew. "It didn't look like nothing. Come on, Gin, what were you thinking?" he cajoled.

Ginny realized he would pester him until he got an answer, and wanted to strangle her brother for passing this trait onto Harry. Hermione's incessant questioning probably hadn't helped either. As calmly as she could, she smoothed her face. "Your bloody fantastic body," she told him with as straight a face as she could manage. Merlin, was she _flirting_ with Harry? She really shouldn't have had that glass of wine at dinner.

To her surprise, Harry's cheeks turned a bit red, and he ducked his head momentarily. Shaking his head in disappointment, Harry wagged finger at her. "Such thoughts, Miss Weasley. I am truly shocked at your deportment. Fifty points from Gryffindor and detention with Umbridge," he intoned.

Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth, but couldn't stop the giggles from escaping between her fingers. She was gasping for air as she choked out a reply. "That horrid, old cow! I wonder if she still can't hear hoof beats?" she questioned.

"I hope so," Harry growled slightly, then lightened. "That was amazing, Fred and George's escape. It's been four years, but no one's forgotten the swamp trick yet."

"Mum's still angry. She brings it up every time they row," Ginny remarked. "Though she's become much more reasonable since the shop started doing well."

Harry quirked a grin. "Your Mum is one heck of a woman. I don't see how she dealt with you lot for so long."

"None of us do," Ginny joked, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "You, my friend, are her favorite son. That should answer any of your questions right there."

"Too much Witch Weekly," he quipped in return, liking the easy banter they had going. He'd always found Ginny attractive and great fun to be around, once she'd gotten over her crush, but there was just something different about her now. He shifted away from her slightly, trying to put the proper amount of distance between the two of them. She was probably involved with someone. Every time he was there, she was always bringing some git back to the Burrow for dinner.

Ginny laughed along with Harry, and let his sudden change slide. He'd always been uncomfortable with physical displays, something she attributed to his childhood, and felt a burst of anger towards his horrible relatives. While Harry was mostly fine now, he still wasn't normal, and it was all their fault! Picking up another fame, she held it out to Harry, letting him do the honors of unveiling the next.

The sheet slid off slowly, and Harry froze, eyes unblinking at the painting in front of him. The color drained from his face as he looked on in a mix of pain, dread, and guilt.

Ginny was in shock. Staring hard at the painting, her harsh whisper cut through the air. "Oh, sweet Merlin."


End file.
